Meeting at the River / Gall of Fortune to Hit

Gall, of fortune but not of froth/

Wrath to be had in the river of time but not

Where it sits, naturally, decadently.

There is no awl or owl or whatthefuck in this river.

Swim a-shyly and dawn on the crest of the rabbit hole that you

Were a weed in the sunset drippings of my towellette

Don’t forget we met at the Sundance Festival.

Now, now…

Now, I know how it is to be a playful thing

No one wants to go where the natural sets in stead of the synthetic

Too drawn-out and loathsome to be meaningful

Tacks litter the landscape

Drool drips to the floor

Totalitarian Turd

Trying something new here, after some poetic advice from a friend.

Here we go:

The dove makes love to a






is in your mind,



is in your mind.

Frozen in time, I

lust for

the dust of

the peanut


With to-ta-li-ta-ri-an gi-bber-ish,

Whether if

I be

spoken or

I be


But no one wants to limit their


With a frank

a-ccu-sa-tion that


When the dust does


When the leaves

do fall.

What was the advice my friend gave me? PAY ATTENTION TO RHYTHM AND RHYME! Also I just intend to beef up my editing of poems from now on instead of slapping them onto the blog or my family or wherever instantaneously.

Let me know if this piece works, and what could be better about it.


-varjak (baby)

Less Than Apocalypse

Lesser than

A loose horse

Lesser than

The tidal waves

I am immersed in Other



I digress


The vindictum is oft chopped at the fore

And to be honest… sometimes at the aft

We all have honest hobbies

There’s no one to hunt


I’m not on the market

But for computational work



I hung up


Last drink of the night?

Yeah, then I’m heading home

Well drive safe

The apocalypse makes some drivers crazy

Save Me, Monks

Beauregard come save me

I am in the monk’s order


I want to be one of the monks

I wish to have steely reserve nerves and

A punch like a brick

Come save me, monks

I won’t look down on you

Whether you like it or not

I won’t be at your side

Bandaging you


Dead Horizon As Yet of Unknown, Once Again

Please start music before proceeding to read poem for full experience:



I don’t know if putting this here will maximize the value

I’m all for optimization

But do I have any other choice?


Back in the day–think Ancient Greece–you had to go to great lengths to become a leader

It was one in too many who broke through

Now they sell leadership certificates through common coursework by the dozen

Who wants to be a leader?

Just take a class.


One kick in too many asses

I’m not trying to gross anyone out

I’m just playing the imitation game

Decoding my own mind’s electrophysiological functions

I’m the laziest I’ve ever been

I won’t ever make it


This terminates the creative train of thought

Who strains backwards and forward for a schiff of wheat

I’m not learning anything

I am a dead end


Without being too dreary

The overcoming won’t come for me

I’m in the underclear

Narry a dander light on the horizon

Narry my mellow father mother son


Dandruff n shampoo



Dandruff n shampoo


I’m sorry guys! Time dilation! I realized the poem is too short–that it took longer to write it than it does to read it, and therefore it is not “in sync” with la musique. Apologies possible extension in the future.

Cul de Sac

Ring the unnecessary from it

Send the formant a song

I’m a robot

You are too

We are so alone

I have a jury out on the phone

They want me

Oh how badly do they want me

They want you too

We are lost souls

There’s no net benefit from this dynamite

I’m stoned

There’s no exhaustive algorithm here

We must try again

With Atlas rolling joints

There’s no stand for my bust

But I’m busting you out

Go about

Your daily

I’m scent

In the night

They’ll never catch me


The rabble-rousing Irish adventurer in me

Says No more!

Tonight we conquer the beast!



The danger lurks near…

Why can’t I go wrong?


The vendetta grows stark

I’m alone

There’s no grass in this lawn

I walk past

Animatic motions of my wrist

Say hi to the neighbor

The parallax of real life

No one seems to care about


What is this journey for?

What’s it up to?

What’s it plotting behind my back?

Don’t go

Over that bridge

Without first eating the grenade

And blowing your mind up from the inside out


I’m fighting for my life


Aye! My Hospitality

I have a limitless supply of words

But no one to publish them

My hospitality is gross

I denounce

Aye! I denounce

Enunciation and


Forthright persecution


And candy was served


The president knows…

So we’d better gather our crab claws

And hustle on out of this space

To a new plane

A mesomorphic pretense in Italy

The Riviera

My home

I have no home

No one does

We are all



A dinosaur’s

Fecal matter.


New York full of oil

Cumulative weekly decomposition

Marred in fright the Twitter feed deposits me

Or on me?

A light layer of surfactant


miscible liquids

In sheen form


My neighbors.

Hum. Hum. Hum neighbors.

N o o n e q u i t e q u a l i f i e s

for this life

For this brigade

For his propaganda

I’m met with the resilience of constant discomfiture

Ah! well

What can I say

The banana’s on top

This has no meaning

I’m just a neighbor too